


on the horizon

by Cân Cennau (cancennau)



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Cantair Set, Moving On, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 11:30:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10684407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cancennau/pseuds/C%C3%A2n%20Cennau
Summary: How Julian learns to move on.A response to Tinsnip's "The Smallest Things".





	on the horizon

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Smallest Things](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3305897) by [tinsnip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinsnip/pseuds/tinsnip). 



_ No. _

Julian doesn't realize he’s said the words aloud until he hears the reverberation in his quarters. Garak’s logic, perfunctory and unemotional, lies in his hands, shaking. He doesn't much care - he’s too caught up in  _ how  _ and  _ why  _ and  _ Garak’s alive  _ and  _ Garak’s not coming back _ and  _ god  _ why did it  _ hurt,  _ why did grief seem to be trying to crawl like bile up his throat, why was his mouth  _ twisting,  _ this wasn't  _ supposed _ to happen _ ,  _ damn him,  _ damn  _ this cursed wicked heart,  _ damn it- _

The PADD blinks a download confirmation, but Julian is too busy sobbing to notice.

* * *

 

Quark’s is busy and horrific, but Julian can’t bear to remain cooped up in his quarters any longer. He brings his PADD with him -  _ Ways To Say Goodbye  _ blinks on the desktop, Garak’s final gift, but it’s too soon. Too soon.

Instead, he re-reads Garak’s letter. Perhaps it’s code? Perhaps Garak is not actually breaking up with him, but has provided coordinates to a rendezvous in the middle of the green, lush Alik Dunes. A run-away romance, a “forgive my choice” apology, an exit from this god-awful nightmare-

He downs another glass of  _ kanar _ , and forgets about his conspiracy theories.

* * *

 

Hungover and red-eyed, Julian turns up to work, and gets immediately sent back with a week’s leave. He lies in bed, inter-spacing bouts of throwing up with naps and crying fits. He skims his PADD, skips Garak’s gift, reads his emails - junk, junk, scholarly junk, one from Ezri - she’s on leave on Trill-

Perhaps he’s still drunk, but he  _ blinks _ and suddenly there’s a booked shuttle in his name,  _ blink _ , Trill rises across the horizon,  _ blink _ , Julian is stood on Ezri’s front porch, being hugged tightly.

“Why were you right?” Julian asks, voice breaking. “ _ You weren't supposed to be right _ .”

* * *

 

They sit on the parapet of Ezri’s family home, with Trill dumplings and spring wine. The white  _ khorhumbah  _ birds fight mid-air for the food Ezri throws at them, but Julian is too morose to smile.

“Have you ever read  _ The Movement Of Wings _ ?’” Julian asks suddenly.

“Audrid did.” Ezri replies, hurling another dumpling at the birds. “Why?”

“I think I’m Tozen.” The dumpling Julian holds crumbles onto the parapet tile. “Hoping I could have something I couldn't.”

“Maybe.” Ezri picks another dumpling. “That book wasn't finished, though.”

“No?”

“Tozen never got the opportunity to drown his sorrows in cheap wine.”

* * *

The room spins in the low light, and Julian blinks, cheek pressed against the cool pillow on Ezri’s tiny camp bed, reminding him of cold scales and warm summer days and-

_ Fuck him _ .

The thought comes unprovoked, and drifts away through wine-diluted cracks in Julian’s skull. He ignores the first time, but it comes back, a second, then a third time,  _ fuck him fuck Elim Garak and his godforsaken Dunes fuck  _ **_him_ ** **,** and the pillow is warm from the boil of his drunken rage and-

Julian tosses and turns, furious and drunk, until dawn breaks, and exhaustion finally takes him.

* * *

 

The PADD holding  _ Ways To Say Goodbye _ falls out as he packs his clothes, the corners a little scuffed from being carried everywhere. Julian picks it up, and for the first time, reads a little.

The stories are nothing special - frivolous, light, perfunctory. Julian flicks through it, looking for something other than cinnamon dust stories, a “To my husband” or “To Ya’jetzi, you sly riding hound”, literally any living touch-

_ To Julian _ , the front page said.  _ The dunes are still green, but they’ll fade with time _ .

With remarkable restraint, Julian shuts the PADD off, and hurls it at the wall.

* * *

 

Months on, and an empty message stares at Julian as he tries to figure out what to say to Garak for the umpteenth time. Answers? Garak wouldn't give them. Begging for another chance? Julian still had some pride left, thank  _ you _ . A pointed letter? Tempting, but no. A friendly note? The idea sours in his stomach.

He types and retypes various ways of addressing Garak, before giving up. He fingers the shortcut to  _ Ways To Say Goodbye _ , the crack in the screen, thinking,

It had been months. What did he need from sending this letter?

Closure?

Time?

An old friend?

* * *

 

Julian reads  _ The Movement of Wings  _ again, and it’s different. Originally, he’d rallied against Tozen, but now… now…

Now Julian wonders what Siv’rie would do in Garak’s position. Run away? Pretend he didn’t exist? Garak had chosen his State over him. And Julian knew, in his heart of hearts, that Garak never had much of a choice - home or a lover, Cardassia’s protector or a long-distance letter writer, no - Garak handled it badly, but the choice he had to make... 

Tozen let Siv’rie go, surrounded by her spirit. Julian closes the book, and knows exactly where he needs to be.

* * *

The Alik Dunes are green, but different - the postcard in Julian’s hand is covered in blue flowers, whilst the grass running through his toes pops with  _ bet’to  _ sprouts and tiny yellow blooms. Julian breathes, feels the dirt under his toenails, and the  _ mertgen  _ under his soles. He smiles - he hasn't done that for a while. He watches a shadow on the bank of another dune, face upturned towards the sky. He looks contented, claimed by the Dunes as Julian has been, and Garak before him...

_ Is it him? _

Julian holds the thought, then lets it fritter away.

_ Does it matter? _

* * *

 

**Dear Minister Garak,**

**Apologies for the late reply - our project needed some loose ends tied up. I can’t say it’s entirely complete, but it’s the best that I can offer. In the meantime, let me congratulate you on the success of your office - reports say food is less scarce, and that Cardassia is almost back on its feet again.**

**You’ve done well.**

**Sincerely,**

**Julian**

**_Attached: a photograph of the rolling, verdant Dunes, covered in yellow flowers. Kardasi’or stands on the horizon behind it. Written by hand on the back -_ They’re still green, but the flowers have changed. Write soon. --J**


End file.
